


Final Grasp

by SheerSaxifrage



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheerSaxifrage/pseuds/SheerSaxifrage
Summary: "I am an old man nearing the end of my life, with nothing to lose and not a care as to who I offend. All that I have—our fortune, our esteemed place as leaders of the Alliance, the thousand-year history of our family name—is yours. It is only yours."(Oswald von Riegan reaches out to his grandson.)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love how I decided to write a Leicester centered fic when I literally just started the route lol
> 
> A mostly canon-compliant one-shot about the grandpa apparently we never get to see. As always, comments are much loved and appreciated ;)

He'd put off writing the letter all day.

It wasn't in Oswald's nature to procrastinate. He intended to write it in the morning, but—the drapes in his study room needed replacing, didn't they? And then Margrave Edmund sought his advice on some minor concern, and of _course_ Oswald would help the newest and most malleable member of the roundtable. After that there came a parcel from that poor Daphnel girl, Judith's niece, the one he locked his late son into a betrothal with when he was 18 years old and she was 18 months. It was another piece complaining about Godfrey's death, her unmarriageable status, her impending fate as a spinster, _oh-won't-you-help-this-poor-Crestless-bitch—_

Oswald ripped the letter once-twice-three times, engraved it with his personal seal, and instructed his carrier to deliver the torn pieces to her as his official response.

By then it was late afternoon. It was his intention to sit down and write, but instead of making the left to his office he continued on ahead to the highest balcony of the Riegan Estate. Oswald looked down at his city, upon the thousands of well-off-yet-still-commoner ants who called it home. The workday wasn't quite done for them yet, and they were all too caught up in their own little lives to notice the spindly old man eyeing them behind his wire-rim glasses. Even if one did catch sight of him, they'd have no way of knowing who he was. The members of House Riegan were famously secretive and wary of commoners, stemming from the assassination of the second Sovereign Duke not long after the Crescent Moon War. The killer had been some lowborn ragdoll disgruntled over the lack of commoner representation in the newly-established Alliance. She was shot through by an archer squad and deserved every last arrow that pierced her, but the incident scarred the psyche of Riegan clan. Oswald could still hear his own father ranting about how they needed to seclude themselves for their own protection, a paranoia he continued to live under despite his entire lived experience being evidence to the contrary.

Commoners were not to be feared; they were largely irrelevant. It was the _nobles_ , he'd learned, that needed to be handled like the poisonous snakes they were.

Oswald looked out at the mountain range that surrounded Derdriu and wondered—once again and for the thousandth time—if he was doing the right thing. He was aware of how unhappy Tiana and Godfrey had been growing up, their fates shackled to the demands of House Riegan and the Leicester Alliance. He arranged for Tiana to marry the future Count Ordelia to strengthen the bond between their houses and counter Gloucester influence, and nearly twenty years later her runaway was still the most severe humiliation he'd ever been forced to endure. Oswald punished his son by proxy, choking him with the bonds of obligation until there was nothing left to him but _the future Sovereign Duke._

And then he died.

Godfrey _died_ and Count Ordelia was also forced to endure a parent's greatest loss, six times in a row. In contrast: Tiana ran away, married the man she 'loved', and became the queen of a nation five times the size of the Alliance. Oswald could lie to himself until the Goddess came back, but the results spoke for themselves.

However, inheritances weren't generational in Almyra. Her good fortune was not Khalid's good fortune.

Oswald grimaced. _Khalid._ He had a grandson breathing the air of this world for the past sixteen years, and not once did Tiana find the time to tell him. And for what—so he couldn't interrupt her grand love story? To _spite_ him? It certainly wasn't to protect the boy. It was well known that Alymrans thought little of the Fódlanese, and every bit of the discrimination they could not impose on their queen was levied onto Khalid instead.

Oswald didn't realize how hard he'd been gripping the balcony edge, knuckles gone white and numb. He straightened his posture as best he could, fixing his embroidered vest and coat. He supposed he should be grateful for Tiana's neglect; it would only make the Alliance all the more appealing. After all, why should Khalid labor under the hatred of his own people when he could rule over a country of his own?

* * *

_Dear Khalid,_

_Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oswald von Riegan, Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance. But far more importantly than that, I am your grandfather._

_I'm writing to you now from our estate in_ _Derdriu_ _, the capital of the Leicester Alliance and our family's ancestral home. Years ago, your mother used to chase her crying younger brother through these very halls. She was educated by our tutors in the library across from my office; she was trained in archery and swordplay by the same war veterans who taught me. Just above my bedroom door is the family portrait we sat for in 1138, my late wife seated in the center holding baby Godfrey, three-year-old Tiana posed to her right, and myself looming large behind them in my best regalia._

_The furniture in our estate is themed around the color yellow—for the color of the moon above, our flag, and our family insignia. The average citizen doesn't know much about us and I prefer to keep it that way, but commoners bow at the sight of our crescent banners. The nobility halt their snide, insolent chatter when our knights make my presence known. We are not royalty, but are still equals to the Adrestrian Emperor and the King of Faerghus. We bend the knee to no one. That is the Leicester way._

_Your mother relinquished her claim to House Riegan when she married your father, and your uncle was murdered six months ago by enemies of the Alliance. I am an old man nearing the end of my life, with nothing to lose and not a care as to who I offend. All that I have—our fortune, our esteemed place as leaders of the Alliance, the thousand-year history of our family name—is yours. It is_ only yours.

_I ask that you travel to the Alliance to meet with me in the Riegan Estate. I wish to know my only grandchild. We have much to discuss about the future._

_No matter where you were raised, who you are now, or whatever sort of man you may become: you will always have a place with me._

_Your grandfather,_

_Oswald von Riegan_

_Sixth Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance_

Oswald scanned the letter. He painted as lovely a picture as he could without writing a novel, made sure to convey a sense of shared ownership, and even dared to throw in an appeal to Khalid's heart at the end.

He felt warm as he read and re-read that final line. He was nearly 75 years old, and in all that time he had never committed such vulnerability to paper. No matter the strict instructions he conveyed to his carriers, there was no guarantee Khalid would be the only one to read his letter. Tiana might snatch it from his hands; his barbarous father might demand that it be read to him; some conspiring servant might tear it to shreds. But what else could Oswald do? He knew he would likely die en route if he tried to make the commute to Almyra himself. Oswald was no longer afraid of death, but he refused to leave the world without securing House Riegan's future.

Allowing Khalid time to read the letter, consider his words, and respond, Oswald was told could expect to hear back from his grandson in three weeks.

Khalid's response arrived in one.

When his carriers handed it to him, Oswald immediately noticed the weight of the envelope. The paper used in Almyra was thicker than what he was used to, grainer, nearly opaque when he held it up to the light. The Almyran royal seal held the letter shut, a burnt orange stallion that was a nod to their desert landscape and history as nomads. Oswald shooed his carriers away, and as soon as the heavy wood doors of his study were heaved shut he reached for his letter opener. And then he sat there, paralyzed, eyes glued to the unopened letter as if by gravitational pull.

_When I'm nervous, I take a step forward and do it anyway!_

It was what Tiana would tell Godfrey when she wanted to goad him into some mischief, like when they dropped eggs on Duke Daphnel's head from the balcony or filled Countess Hyrm's purse with lard. Hate her as he might, in his moments of uncertainty it was the words of his bitch queen daughter that spurred him on. He slipped the opener beneath the insignia and ripped it open.

_Gramps:_

_I read over what you wrote, and let me tell you! I hemmed and I hawed. I meditated on your words. I read volumes of Alliance history. I intensely interviewed many of your closest allies and associates. I had a very dramatic fight with my dad in the rain, complete with appropriately timed lightning and some servants playing sad violin music in the background. Then mom came in, tied me to a horse, and dragged me naked through the streets of the capital. I am still reeling with shame._

_This is all to say that I've decided to meet with you in the Leicester Alliance. My parents support this decision whole heartedly. I'm told it'll take upwards of a week to get there. I'll see you soon!_

_Prepare yourself._

_Your Favorite Grandson,_

_Prince Khalid_

At least no one could say he wasn't Tiana's son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story got a few dozen hits more than I expected it to, and interest has been shown in it's continuation. So, I guess I'll go on lol
> 
>  **TW** for explicit racism and references to slavery in the first section.
> 
>  **TW** for blatant, I-felt-gross-writing-this colorism in the second section. 
> 
> Every comment is appreciated and cherished :)

His late wife was nothing like him.

He first laid eyes on Anais during their formal introduction about a month before their wedding. He remembered thinking her title was the only beautiful thing about her, this underweight mouse of a girl with thin red hair and an oversized nose. She didn't say a word and he'd never been one for small talk anyway, so their respective fathers spoke in their stead— _Oswald prefers this, Anais can do such-and-such, they should have at least five children, this union should secure those trade routes, correct?_ He visually traced the wallpaper's looping pattern as the chatter around him melded to a dull cacophony.

To say he wasn't impressed was an understatement, but listless marriages were standard fare for the nobility. They were married for six months before they had their first real conversation, and it wasn't until Anais gave birth to Tiana that he saw her true colors. She took one look at the hairless, writhing thing she'd heaved out of her body and _cried_. She turned down the wet-nurses, insisting that she breastfeed their daughter herself. Anais spent hours holding and talking to and coddling the girl, celebrating every developmental milestone with the same vigor he felt after a major policy achievement.

Godfrey was born three years later, and she treated him much the same. As their children grew up she personally oversaw their lessons, dressed their wounds, read them to sleep at night. There was never a matter so pressing that she couldn't draw pictures with Tiana or ease one of Godfrey's crying fits. If Oswald was the linchpin of the Alliance, she was the linchpin of the Riegan family. There was no distance between him and his children that she did not act as a bridge for.

And then she died, leaving him alone with two kids under 10.

Oswald had no time for fiction, but he especially hated the borderline-propagandist mythos that permeated Faerghus culture. The gallant knight could slay the beast, save the maiden, protect the king, and make everything right with the slash of his sword, but it ultimately didn't matter. If left running long enough, everyone's story ended the same. No deed or lofty title could circumvent the inevitable.

Anais had been gone for over 35 years—between that and his old age, it was easy for him to forget the sort of stock she came from. She was from a lesser house in the Goneril region, one that made its wealth from selling Almyran prisoners-of-war into 'servitude'. It was a soft word to mask what was actually happening, and even as a young man he hadn't been happy with his in-laws. The Empire had outlawed slavery five hundred years ago, and the Kingdom followed suit soon after they lost Leicester; and yet the Alliance persisted with their shackled, starved, beaten-till-they-bled _servants_.

House Riegan slaughtered its slave staff after the assassination of the Second Sovereign Duke, and their anti-slavery sentiment eventually became their official roundtable position. It was an attitude that solidified for Oswald whenever Anais asked to bring in a slave for her and the children, one that hardened to stone whenever his refusal triggered a paranoid diatribe against the people they shared a continent with.

He wondered what Anais would think of his plan. Would she support him given the circumstance, or would she rather see House Riegan fall than hand it over to one of _'those people'_? Would she even _acknowledge_ Khalid as her grandson? No, she would sooner convince herself it was all some plot cooked up by the Almyran crown to gain a foothold in the Alliance. To her, Almyrans were both drooling idiots and hyper-competent conspirators, to be feared and conquered and enslaved for their own good and before they did the same to the Fódlanese. If Oswald were being honest with himself, Khalid would not have been allowed in their home as a free man if she were still alive.

But she wasn't.

Oswald supposed the Goddess allowed things to unfold as they should.

* * *

Khalid arrived ten days later.

Oswald had been eyeing Derdriu's main gate from the balcony. When he saw a hoard of nondescript wagons turn onto the city's main road, he knew it had to be his grandson's party; so he headed to the staircase, climbing down one step after agonizing step. He waved away any servants looking to help as he inched to the meeting hall, harshly reminding them that they were not permitted to see or interact with this guest until granted permission.

He made it there moments before the doors were opened. First entered the flurry of Reigan knights who'd been tasked with searching his grandson's wagons. Then there were the discreetly dressed Almyran guards who'd accompanied him. And then—finally and at long last—came his grandson, dressed in the browns and oranges and golds Almyra was known for—

Oswald was taken aback. Khalid was _dark_.

Goddess, he was even darker than Judith. He knew where the boy came from but didn't expect him to actually look the part, as if the Crest he supposedly had was proof he really was more Fódlanese than Almyran. The only Riegan thing about him were his bright green eyes and the good humor dancing behind them.

(Oswald's eyes once looked like that. He knew because Harper told him, and Harper Goneril was the only person who never lied to him. That side of him was long lost, and a flurry of regret the passed through him for _ever_ contacting his dark, _bound-to-lose-his-spark-now_ grandson.)

An Almyran guard who looked like he well and truly did not want to be there gestured vaguely at the boy. "Introducing Prince Khalid."

He was surprised that was the only title afforded to Khalid. Oswald met with the former Almyran King early into his tenure as Sovereign Duke, and it took his poor guard a solid three minutes to list off all his titles: _King of Almyra, Lord of Such-and-Such Mountains, Ruler of These Irrelevant Seas, First Citizen of the Mars and the Moon, the Goddess's Official Consort, Look-At-Him-He-Has-A-Twenty-Inch-Cock, No-Small-Dick-Energy-Here—_

He nodded to Khalid in greeting, short and curt. "So, you're Khalid. It's a joy to finally meet you."

"And you're the Sovereign Duke." The boy stated, careful to avoid naming their connection. He grinned as bright as the sun. "Funny, I was expecting our introduction to have a little more fanfare."

Oswald swayed, unsteady on his feet. "There will be time for that later. Come."

"Come?"

"Food."

"Oh, well that's all you had to say."

* * *

It was such a relief to _sit._

He ordered that the food be set out early to avoid any servants catching sight of his grandson. He considered having his chefs to make an Almyran dish, but decided against it at the last minute, figuring it'd be better for them stick to what they knew rather than risk offending Khalid with some cheap imitation of his homeland's cuisine.

Besides, his ultimate goal was to convince his grandson to become his heir and relocate in Leicester permanently; a primer on Fódlanese culture would aide in that negotiation, and food was certainly a part of culture. For his part, Khalid seemed to enjoy what he was given. Oswald imagined it had to be a step up from whatever barebones slop the boy had been forced to eat on the road. The Sovereign Duke picked at his food, haven gotten to an age and state of health where he rarely felt hungry anymore.

"The trip went smoothly," Khalid abruptly shared without having been asked. "Only three bandit attacks and one rouge bear."

Oswald gave Khalid a level look. "Are you serious?"

"Of course! When I looked out the window I saw _three whole bandits_ , and they sure were an assault on the eyes. You know your life's rough when you start the day looking like a horse trampled you."

Oswald looked at the wallpaper just behind Khalid, it's pattern unchanged from when he first met Anais. "What about the bear?"

"It was a lost cub."

"That's sad."

"Is it? I would've thought you'd be happy."

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Mom told me you're a big-picture kind of person. A lost cub means its mother is too distracted to menace any humans, and if the cub dies that's at least one less bear attack in the future. I thought you'd cheer that sort of thing on."

 _He's testing me._ "Really. And what else did Tiana tell you?"

"Now _that_ is a secret," he winked.

"Hmph. In that case, I hope that you'll allow me the opportunity to correct your assumptions."

"Hey, I never said your way of looking at things was wrong. Bears are dangerous. I would know, when I was 7 my older brother took me on a hunting trip and left me stra—"

Oswald put up his hand, stopping the boy mid-sentence. "I'm sorry. Brother?" He was told Khalid was Tiana's only child.

He nodded, unfazed as he tore into a drumstick. "I have thirteen siblings."

Oswald put his hands over his face. "Goddess help me."

Khalid erupted in a fit of laughter, slamming his fist on the table. "Yup, you really screwed the pooch not snagging my oldest brother! Not that he's at all relevant to you, considering mom didn't give birth to him."

"I don't understand."

"What's there to understand? Mom didn't want any more after me, and a king needs lots of heirs to avoid…" Khalid waved his hand between the two of them. " _These_ sorts of situations."

"Huh. And Tiana doesn't mind?"

"No, she understands. Said the man you wanted her to marry—what's his face, Lord Ophelia?—probably would've done the same thing."

Oswald shook his head. "That simply isn't true. Count Ordelia is faithful to a fault."

"Really? In what way?"

"You ought to know. What did you say in your letter?" He placed a finger to his chin, freighting recollection. "That you read 'volumes of Alliance history'?"

"And each page was dirtier than the last."

"Then get a new copy, and take better care of your books next time."

Khalid raised an eyebrow, and Oswald swore he saw a hint of _annoyance_ on his face. "Wow, dad jokes. And here mom said you were stiff as a board."

"What can I say, I have seven decades worth of unused jokes." He widened his eyes, staring at his grandson intently. _"Prepare yourself."_

Khalid smirked, leaning forward across the table. "You know, growing up people like you used to make me nervous."

"Why, because I'm so devastatingly handsome?"

"You look like an older version of me, so I'll go ahead and take that as a compliment. No, it's because you never smile even when you're telling a joke. It's off-putting, because I can never tell when I'm supposed to take people like you seriously."

"Trust me son, when it's time to take me seriously, you'll know it."

Khalid rolled his eyes. "How ominous."

He didn't sound very intimidated, and that was okay. Intimidation wasn't why he summoned his grandson. "Well, this banter's been fun, but I think it's about time. Let's see it."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Oswald remembered that hormone-addled joke, and in it recognized what Khalid was actually asking. As an answer, he held out his hand, palm-up, and allowed Crest Riegan to manifest.

Khalid's chewing slowed as he studied his Crest. Swallowing, he asked, "what's that thing on top?"

"The mark of a Major Crest."

"Sounds important."

"It is and it isn't. A Major Crest will activate more frequently, and has a higher chance of being passed down." He clenched his fist, dissolving the mark. "My life was spent in meeting halls and backrooms, so only the second reason was relevant to me. But in battle, a Crest's activation rate can make all the difference."

Khalid smirked wryly, lifting his palm up. His Minor Crest bloomed. "Guess mine is pretty weak-sauce in comparison, huh?"

Oswald fought the urge to smile. "On the contrary. It's _perfect."_


End file.
